"Why should I?"
Adler knew he was going to be up shitcreek but he went with it anyway. He lowered his voice. "Does the USS Bronson ring a bell, sir?" Grant flashed an 'I don't believe you said that' look. Adler ignored him.
In 1975 the two of them had been instrumental in preventing the most advanced destroyer in existence, the USS Bronson, from falling into Russian hands.
"Ahh," Wharton smirked, "the Bronson." He flicked an ash on the floor, then shifted his eyes to Grant. "If I'm not mistaken, one of our boys worked with you on that one. Tony Mullins, right?" Grant held back any reaction. "And you say it was all on instincts?"
"Pretty much!" Adler sheepishly looked in Grant's direction, giving him a 'see… no problem' wink.
"It's still gonna take a fuckin' lot more than that to convince me," Wharton added. "Gimme some names."
Grant stared intently into Wharton's round, full face, watching for a reaction. "Bradley, Canetti, Kelley."
Wharton barely blinked. His face remained like a mask. He leaned back against the chair, intertwined his fingers, then rested his hands on his midsection. Grant gave him a chance to roll the names around in his mind.
"In my estimation, you're picking the three most obvious, maybe too obvious," Wharton finally responded.
"Don't think so. Look, confirm for me that they were the only individuals who knew Lampson was coming back that night, and only just before extraction."
Wharton sighed deeply, reaching for his beer, but refrained from drinking. "I informed Bradley two hours prior to his taking Joe to the Spree, and Canetti and Kelley were put on alert to wait in the crypto lab for any transmissions from you. So that would've been around 2000 hours for all parties."
"Were they informed Lampson was being stashed at the Hotel Berliner?" Grant asked as he sipped on the cold coffee.
Wharton glanced up at the ceiling, thinking back to his conversations with the three men. He moved his eyes from Adler then back to Grant. "Yeah, I did tell them."
Adler asked, "What about the two agents assigned to guarding Lampson at the hotel?"
"They were that obvious, huh?" Wharton chuckled. Adler just shrugged his shoulders as Wharton responded, "No, they knew nothing until Bradley took Lampson over there."
"Would you say that the two hours was more than enough time to put a note in Lampson's room?" Grant asked.
"Note? What the hell are you talking about?"
"A note was taped to the inside of the medicine cabinet. It addressed Lampson by his German name, Eric Brennar, and threatened his twin sons. As a nice touch," Grant said with a note of sarcasm, "a photo of the kids was included."
"Torrinson mentioned the kids," Wharton nodded. "And getting back to your question, yeah, two hours would've given someone time to get the note to the hotel, or at least contact someone else to do it. My guess is it was probably the latter."
Grant pushed the coffee cup away, then rested his arms on the table. "Would you be willing to run some interference for us?"
"Like what?"
"Joe and I came up with a way to put our cast of characters through a test."
"I'm listening."
Grant outlined the plan. Wharton listened intently, sipping on his beer, every once in a while nodding his head, but he refrained from asking any questions. The plan was simple enough. Only the three men under suspicion would be involved. No one in the Embassy or West Berlin civilian community would be put in any danger.
The CIA bureau chief raised the beer stein to his lips and downed the last mouthful of warm beer. He held onto the stein momentarily, turning it around, letting his eyes wander across the colorful, intricate carvings covering the outer shell. Finally, he said, "I told the Admiral I'd help you two and this definitely falls into that category."
Grant's face broke into a grin. "Thanks."
Wharton stood up, with Grant and Adler following. "Speaking of help,” Wharton said, “John, I mean Admiral Torrinson, said you might need additional supplies."
"We're covered, but thanks anyway." As they shook hands, Grant said, "Sorry it had to be this way, sir."
Wharton then offered a hand to Adler as he said, "Listen, all we need to do is identify the son of a bitch then hope he didn't cause any irreparable damage." He started to turn away, then looked back at Grant. "You sure Rick's in good hands?"
"As safe as a baby in its mother's arms," Grant answered reassuringly.
Wharton nodded. "You know I'm not looking forward to talking with any of you tonight."
"Understood, sir," Grant nodded. The bureau chief sighed deeply and lowered his head before turning and heading for the front door. As soon as he'd gone, Grant said, "Come on, Joe. Let's go make that call to Grigori."
Wharton climbed the winding marble staircase leading to the second floor offices. He by-passed the elevator because he wanted the few additional minutes to think. As he reached the top step, he noticed Pete Bradley standing by a secretary's desk, thumbing through a manila folder. "Pete, I need to see you."
"Sure, Matt," Bradley answered, as he dropped the folder on the corner of the desk.
Wharton leaned toward his secretary. "Margaret, hold all calls, okay?" She nodded with a smile. He walked ahead of Bradley into his office, and hung his suede jacket on the clothes pole. Walking to his desk, he flopped down in the chair, opened the top drawer and pulled out a new pack of cigarettes, stripping away the cellophane wrapper. "Sit down, Pete." Bradley pulled a red leather upholstered chair closer to the front of the desk, then sat down. He waited while Wharton lit a cigarette. Wharton took a long drag from the Marlboro, then let out the smoke through a corner of his mouth. "Pete, what I'm going to tell you stays in this room. Understand?"
"Of course."
"I've been in contact with the Navy boys."
"Did you find out what they did with Lampson?"
"Yes and no."
"What's that supposed to mean? You were ‘ready for bear’ earlier."
"Just listen to me, okay?" Bradley shrugged his shoulders then sat back. Wharton thought about his response, then added, "I've been assured Lampson is safe. That's all you need to know. Now, Navy's going back into East Berlin tonight."
"What the… "
"I told you to listen! When I spoke with Admiral Torrinson he asked for our assistance. They've got some business to finish over there. At 2230 hours they'll be making their drop. Once they're safely in, they'll be contacting us." He got up and went over to a five-drawer file cabinet.
As he did Bradley asked, "Where's the designated drop zone?"
While he was unlocking the cabinet, Wharton informed him of the site, its coordinates, and code name. He then lifted his Delco portable radio from the top drawer. "Here. I want you to take this to your office when we're through." He put the black case on the floor next to Bradley's chair, then sat on the corner of his desk and picked up a pen and piece of note paper. He scribbled something then handed the paper to Bradley. "That's the frequency they'll be calling on. You've gotta start monitoring at 2100 hours. As soon as you hear from them, you get your ass back in here. I've gotta stay here and wait for Torrinson, you know, hold his hand while his boys are out playing their dangerous little games."
"Right," Bradley snickered.
"Remember, Pete… no one, I repeat, no one else is to know about this. Their mission is critical."
"You've got my word, Matt." He picked up the case containing the radio. "Listen, Matt, I know I haven't lived up to your expectations, so, well, I guess I'm surprised at your letting me help with this."
Wharton slid off the corner of the desk and a placed a hand on the attaché's back, gently showing him to the door. "It's time you got involved around here with more than just paperwork. Now, go lock up that radio." Bradley left. Wharton turned and walked over to the window. If it's you, you little shit, I'll break off your goddamn head and shit in the hole personally!